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by AvandraTheMarySueSlayer



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: All mages are bisexual okay?, Edwin is full of shit as usual, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Male Slash, My first slash ahhhhh I'm so nervous!, Smut, Somehow, duh!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 09:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16155911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvandraTheMarySueSlayer/pseuds/AvandraTheMarySueSlayer
Summary: During the exploration of the Dumathoin dwarves' caverns, Cat's group is surrounded by undead forces and Edwin falls. Luckily, Viconia has the means to resurrect him... though his short stay in the Fugue Plane was less than pleasant. Fortunately for him, Baeloth knows just how to get his mind off his recent death.





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**Author's Note:**

> Holy fucking shit it's been so long since I last wrote something! I've had this around for a while, so I'd like to publish it and focus on Strangeness and Charm again. I really hope you enjoy my first time writing male on male smut, please do give feedback, I would like to know how I'm doing. My main concern is whether this feels natural, like the kind of thing two real guys would do. Now let's get on with this little one-shot!

* * *

 

With a ragged gasp, Edwin opened his eyes and drew a strained breath as he jolted up, only for him to start coughing violently and the world around him to begin spinning, almost making him hit the ground again weren't it for Viconia's quick reflexes. She cradled his head and glared at him.

 

“Not so fast. I have to patch you up before you can get going.”

 

She chanted a prayer to Shar, and his multiple wounds began to close, the pain began to recede, the world stopped spinning and he could finally focus his vision and thoughts. He turned to the leader of that little group of miscreants, who eyed him with a furrowed brow.

 

“You,” he growled, “you let me _die_.”

 

She averted her green gaze to the floor for a moment. Did she really feel guilty? Stupid woman…

 

“Wasn't planning on that,” she murmured, finally resuming eye contact. “We were cornered and outnumbered. Sorry.”

 

An apology. So she really did feel responsible for his fortunately momentary demise. Ah, well, that was what taking the lead entailed. He was glad the guilt fell on her shoulders, rather than his.

 

The witch resumed her babbling, interrupting his musings.

 

“If it makes you feel better, we’re all pretty beaten too. But on the flipside, I think we’ve dispatched all those unpleasant undead in this area, so maybe we could get a well deserved rest.”

 

Everyone's heads perked up at the mention of the word “rest”. The stuck up Flaming Fist officer whom Cat had appointed as the official canon fodder of the team –at least temporarily, for no one was especially fond of her grating presence and misplaced morals– offered to make the first guard shift. Of course, Edwin was spared such a task on behalf of having just been pulled back from the dead. Cat gave him a neat envelope with his belongings, which he counted greedily to make sure no one had touched his stuff, as per his last instruction before falling to the undead onslaught. He understood that Cat wished to explore the dwarven mines to get her hands on anything of value she could find, but his recent experience made him wonder if it was truly worth the risk.

 

When preparing his tent, Edwin's movements were sloppy, and he had to fumble with its poles, which refused to remain in position while he threw on the sheltering linen cloth. A pair of dark-skinned hands held the boards that made up the base of the tent so that Edwin could fully attach the poles to them. The suspiciously helpful sorcerer smiled up at him.

 

“It is my impression that setting your tent is turning into a titanic task for you,” Baeloth sneered. “Could this be caused by some complication in coming back to life?”

 

“Leave me be, you monkey,” Edwin muttered as he lifted the linen over the now well placed poles. “I am in no mood for your alliterating shenanigans. (Why does he have that penchant for bothering _me_ specifically?)”

 

“You wound me, my wondrous wizard,” Baeloth sighed dramatically. “I merely imagined that you might be missing some support from someone who has also happened to have been brought back to breathing.”

 

Edwin rolled his eyes.

 

“Why am I not surprised that you have managed to get yourself killed at least once? (Ugh, sorcerers are morons. Why do they have the privilege of spontaneously accessing the Weave when they are merely capable of breathing by themselves?)”

 

“Only once,” the drow replied as he helped him tie the cloth to the poles, “and accept my assurance that there was nothing fair about my fall! See, this assortment of savages I sought for my first Black Pits back in the Underdark schemed to slaughter me with the support of my deceitful djinni slave—”

 

“Wait, you had a djinni slave? (How?)” Edwin asked, his interest picked at Baeloth’s retelling of his death. Enslaving such a powerful creature was no small task; only spellcasters of great prowess and might could manage such a feat. Perhaps his first impression of the sorcerer had been a misjudgement?

 

Baeloth nodded, with a frown that emphasized his indignation.

 

“Najim was his name. I managed to make him comply to my every command with the assistance of a geas spell,” he continued. “Of course, cunning curs like him cannot be trusted, so I casted a wish spell as well, to ensure my ensuing survival should anything come to pass to my person.”

 

“And then you got killed. (A wish spell. How powerful is he, really?)” Edwin inquired, no longer interested in his tent.

 

“And then they plotted to put me away,” Baeloth exclaimed, pressing a hand to his forehead as if measuring his body temperature, though Edwin was aware that it was probably done for dramatic value rather than to check for an ailment. “Working as one, the wretches and Najim cheated in order to terminate me. Fortunately for me, my falsehearted slave was forced by the geas to grant me my wish to be brought back. Not so fortunately, the foul fiend found a failure in a clause of our contract and took the opportunity to take part of my previous power away from me, _and_ teleport me to the shiny _shinduago_ so as to force me to shelter myself in the shadows. Can you conceive such sauciness?”

 

At that point, Edwin was just staring at Baeloth in incredulity, the tent long ago set for him to slip into and rest. He used to have a fighting pit and a djinni at his command to ensure his resurrection should things go south? Maybe there was more to the annoying sorcerer that met the eye. Although there _was_ quite a fair bit that met the eye in his sharp, yet somehow delicate features, the shine of his silky long hair, his lithe frame… wait, what was he thinking!? Baeloth was a pest, surely a brighter one than Edwin was accustomed to deal with, but a pest nonetheless, with his endless nonsensical babbling and _those lips of his looked so soft—_ What!?

 

“Ah—I guess that must have been a most disagreeable experience. (What are you thinking, you idiot?)” Edwin managed to say, avoiding eye contact with the drow at all costs as he fumbled with his backpack to get his bedroll.

 

Obsidian, spider-like fingers held the bedroll for a moment before deftly untying it from the backpack. Then, their owner took the freedom to enter Edwin's tent to spread his bedroll. The wizard followed suit, annoyed at the invasion of his privacy, yet somewhat giddy for the company and secretly thankful for the support Baeloth offered by sharing his own experience. Edwin eyed him warily as he made sure there were no wrinkles in his bedroll. How thoughtful of him.

 

“Did you… (How do I ask this?)” Edwin began, sitting beside his bedroll and watching Baeloth closing the entrance to the tent in dismay. “Did you also feel this…?”

 

“Drowsiness? Despair? Dread?” Baeloth asked with a ghost of a sympathetic smile.

 

“That is definitely not how I would have preferred to voice it, but yes. (Most accurate, if I have to be honest.)” Edwin huffed. “How long does it take for this irritable state to wear off?”

 

Baeloth just shrugged.

 

“Were you waylaid by baatezus?”

 

Edwin shivered. He had been sorely tempted to accept their offers once he learned he would eventually be taken to the City of Judgement. At the Fugue Plane, there was no way to tell how much time passed, and the baatezus’ whispers increased in urgency the more they spoke. It had felt like an eternity in there, but it turned out he had been resurrected as soon as her companions dealt with the undead who had surrounded him and Viconia retrieved a scroll that allowed her to raise the dead. Mere minutes.

 

Suddenly mindful that Baeloth was still awaiting an answer, Edwin just nodded, crossing his arms in a defensive gesture. He hated feeling so vulnerable in front of another.

 

Yet Baeloth only offered kind, soft-spoken words.

 

“You didn't believe you would be drawn back to us, did you?”

 

“I learned to trust no one’s good intentions a long time ago,” Edwin let out a bitter chuckle as he responded. “In a different situation, I would have expected to be resurrected, as my magic skills would have been invaluable to my associates, but with another mage and a sorcerer…”

 

“You reckoned you were replaceable,” Baeloth finished for him.

 

The unusual soft tints of his voice were becoming unbearable for Edwin to hear. A weak side of him (which he attributed to his recent experience with death) wanted to hear more of that voice, while his rational self just wanted to kick the dark elf from his tent. The fact that _he knew_ he had felt expendable didn't help his case, either.

 

“I fail to understand how acknowledging such notions is going to help me get rid of this predicament,” he muttered, resting his forehead on his palm. He was exhausted, but he secretly felt scared to fall asleep. What if he woke up in that horrid gray plane again?

 

“Acknowledgement awards you with advantage in approaching your distress and dealing with it,” Baeloth explained as he made himself comfortable by taking off his boots and laying on his side, his palm supporting his cheek while his free arm laid parallel to his body in what Edwin interpreted as a suggestive manner.

 

“And what do I do next?” Edwin asked, trying his hardest not to allow his eyes to wonder the sorcerer’s pleasing figure.

 

“You confide said distress to a trusted friend,” there was something about Baeloth's grin when he spoke that made Edwin's heart skip a beat, “and you allow that associate to assist you during your adjustment, perhaps by proceeding to please you however you prefer, in order to distract you from your troubles?”

 

The conjurer’s eyes widened. What did that man just suggest?

 

“Uh… you may, I suppose? (What the Hells am I getting myself into?)”

 

Baeloth sat up and leapt into Edwin's arms, kissing him square in the lips. The wizard did not find it in him to fight him, and instead he sighed and melted into the kiss, allowing the sorcerer to lower his hood and cradle his face in his hands.

 

“I knew you were nuts about me,” he chuckled, triumphant.

 

“Don’t get any ideas,” Edwin harrumphed as he began to unbutton the drow's robe. “I just want go get rid of the unpleasant sensations the Fugue Plane left in me in the most efficient way possible. If you are so sure you can help, then by all means, I shall let you try. But don’t take it for anything else than a way to relieve myself of the aftermath of death.”

 

“Whatever you wish,” Baeloth nodded as he also helped Edwin out of his own robe.

 

And it was relief. Those dark lips descending his neck as a hand caressed his well groomed beard and the other stroked his chest, the soft humming sounds he made, the smoothness of his skin upon contact when Edwin decided it was time to explore him… The endless gray, the looming City of Judgement standing in the only horizon, the mist, the baatezu and their poisoned words… it all vanished from his mind as soon as Baeloth began to please him.

 

“Ah, I have been bereft of the blissful embrace of another male for far too much time,” Baeloth sighed as he left feathery kisses on Edwin's collarbone that, along with the expert hands already untying his pants, left him a shuddering mess.

 

“Don’t speak,” he chided the drow, trying to keep his voice from trembling. “It’s too distracting.”

 

Oddly enough, Baeloth obliged, kneeling while Edwin kicked his pants off his ankles. Before he could take off the remainder of the sorcerer's clothing, those dark lips that Edwin found so tantalizing were kissing the tip of his erection, letting his sharp tongue show and sway around the head for a moment before the drow took him in his mouth. Body-shocking. Edwin let out a groan and buckled his hips against his will as he felt Baeloth's hand on his shaft. The other one was busy caressing the inside of his thighs, leaving the conjurer frozen with the sensory explosion.

 

_Damn, he really is proficient at this._

 

“Stop,” he panted, muttering an added curse for allowing his voice to break. “Take off your clothes. This won’t be any interesting unless both of us are naked.”

 

With another of his naughty grins, Baeloth untied his own skin-tight pants and peeled them off as he sat on his buttocks. Edwin lowered himself, crawling on top of the drow, who laid on the floor underneath him, and took a moment to admire his body. Though he would never admit it out loud, “beautiful” didn't do justice to what he was seeing. Baeloth was slim and willowy, with long slender legs and a perfectly plain stomach. Edwin felt envious; his loose robes were excellent at hiding his chubby frame, his legs were hammy and his belly was flabby. Yet Baeloth looked up at him, shamelessly letting his eyes devour his body, desire impossible to hide even if he hadn’t been sporting an erection like he was… and it felt like he was looking up at a god. Edwin found it equally arousing and disgusting, and he was conflicted between kissing the drow or strangling him.

 

Yet again, it was Baeloth who decided for him, cupping Edwin's cheeks on his palms to bring him down for a kiss. That sweetness of his was too much for the wizard to bear. He didn't want to be pitied, he just wanted a distraction. He did not expect affection, and he certainly did not expect to enjoy it, or to want more. Moaning into the kiss, he held Baeloth's hands in his and began to grind against him, member to member, skin to skin, and he revelled in the sorcerer's pleasured sobs. After the initial shock, Baeloth grinded back, trying to synch his movements to Edwin's, and it was the best feeling in the universe. Better than magic. How could he have been so oblivious to the electricity of friction, the fire of connected heartbeats? Lightning bolts and fireballs could never begin to compare to what was happening right then in his tent, between Baeloth and him. At some point, the drow broke his promise to keep silent and began to blather words in his native tongue, but Edwin could not care less by then, so lost was he in the other man’s body.

 

“ _Ssin’urn…_ Beautiful, Edwin, you’re so beautiful…” he gasped over and over, seemingly forgetting his alliteration habit.

 

Edwin just let out a louder moan in response, making his movements somewhat faster. He was so close to release, and Baeloth's stronger grip on his hands indicated that he wasn't far, either. He couldn't stop, he needed to keep going, to get more and more of his lover, completion, he needed completion, he needed…

 

With a yell, Edwin let out all the tension as the world around him melted. The stains of his seed on Baeloth's stomach spurred him further into bringing both to their peak. It only took a few seconds for the drow to crumble, screaming as he threw his head back and arched his hips further up. Gods, he was making a mess of himself. Edwin would need him later again, he was sure of that. The image of the flushed sorcerer covered in their mixed fluids, his pristine hair plastered to his forehead, his skin gleaming with sweat; was one he wouldn't forget any time soon.

 

After they cleaned themselves, Edwin tucked himself into the sheets of his bedroll, not bothering to put on any clothes. Baeloth sat and watched him, with his head cocked to the side.

 

“Shall I stay to sleep?” He asked.

 

Edwin opened an eye, cautious.

 

“Will there be more of this tomorrow?”

 

“As much as you allow,” Baeloth replied with a smile. It was one of the unexpected, sweet ones that made something twist inside Edwin.

 

The conjurer patted the bedroll.

 

“Then come in here, and do not hog the sheets!”

 

For the remainder of that night that he spent with the drow in his arms, Edwin did not give his recent death a single thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Well? What do you think? I wrote based on what I liked from other M/M works, as I have no other frame of reference and I always try not to trust porn too much because more often than not it's completely unrealistic. Would you say I succeeded in what I tried to accomplish? Hit me up and let me know!


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